The End Where I Begin
by yuinyan98
Summary: Now, there's no longer an "us", it's just "me". It's like a million to one, Fred. I can't do it without you. I'm not strong enough. It's not fair. But then again, when were our games ever fair?


**Kanade: hello lovely Harry Potter Fandom! This story is a Fred/George fic with slight Hermione/Ron. It's written in one-shot form but really has three-ish chapters. My best friend Yui was "supposed" to help me write it. Supposed to. She is writing her own fic though. Normally that is t a problem. You can write more then one thing at a time. But no. I'm actually worried about her. I haven't seen her in a month. She doesn't come to school anymore either. She stopped answering her phone too. The teachers ask about her a lot. I say she is sick. Which she is... In a weird writer sort of way. Then...she got writers block... It was horrible! *shudder* she called me the other night. She sang "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts" then proceeded to talk/argue with herself over her Zelda fic. Then we watched Disney's Up. She called me again. All she said was "will you please oh please be my prisoner, bird?" I said I wasn't a bird I was a Tenshi (Angel) I'm really worried about her. I went to her house the other day... Just to check up on her. Her parents and brother were really worried and told me to go home. I shook my head. I'm a writer too so I figure I could help her with her block. Her room was black. Pitch black. The only thing I saw was her eyes. That was creepy. Then he started singing "they are coming to take me away HA HA HEHE HO HO!" I was really creeped out now right? So I turn on the lights. She screamed and ran from her corner to her bed were she dove underneath the covers. He voice was scratchy like she hasn't spoken to anyone in a while. I still remember it. "Turn off the lights precious turn them off!" Now she is going back before the beginning of her fic. But I did manage to drag her to school! She got her homework and now we are on spring break...still worried about her... Now on with the disclaimers**

**Disclaimer: nope. Still don't own them.**

"It's not your fault," they say.

"It was an accident," they say.

Or worse.

"I'm sorry."

Well, just because they say it wasn't my fault, doesn't mean it's true.

And no amount of apologies is going to bring him back either.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

I'll start from the beginning. Not the very beginning, but the beginning you should know about.

It was war. Well, there was a war going on. We fought in it. We had to. But it wasn't just any war. This war was for everyone. Finally we could get rid of this evil. However, things were looking bad at Hogwarts.

We were supposed to win. Defeat Voldemort. Yes, I said his name. Harry gave all of us the courage to in the end. Anyways, we were supposed to beat him. All of us. Together. We were all supposed to make it out of this war. Together.

It was dark. I remember that much. It was dark and cold. Yet we had hope. Together, we could do anything. Snape's death affected us. We misjudged him. We felt horrible, like that spark of hope was gone. One of our greatest allies...gone. But that's not the point.

He was with our brother, Percy. They were laughing... And joking. Percy told me about it. Fred said how he hadn't heard Percy laugh in a long time.

Then it happened. I heard it. The explosion. The screaming. Percy calling him. Fred. Underneath the rubble. Dead.

I was always there to take care of him. And the few times I wasn't, Hermione did.

And let's get one thing straight.

My brother does not like being taken care of.

Wait. Well, at least not in the way she took care of him.

She mothered us.

I'm sorry if I'm being vague. It's just too painful right now. It's all I can do to keep myself together.

We already planned things to do with our shop. And we talked about helping the clean up after the war just this morning. How, when this bloody mess was over, we could rebuild Hogwarts. We would make it out of this. Together. We had to.

Or I thought that's what would happen, at least.

Here's where I have to stop being vague. No matter how much it hurts.

Her name was Hermione. Hermione Granger. She was our little brothers girl. We were so proud of him. Getting the smartest witch at Hogwarts.

My brother, Fred Weasley, was my twin.

Like I said, he was with Percy. I guess they were having fun just talking. Harry and Hermione were with them too. No one expected it. Though, no one expected this whole bloody war did they?

The screams still echo in my head. And Percy calling for help. Screaming 'no' over and over. When they came up to me and told me that my brother had died.

I didn't feel the tears on my face. I didn't hear myself scream. I didn't know when I started running.

Sure, I heard the muffled protests trailing behind me and I felt the sting of the icy cold air on my back, but it didn't matter. Now it was my turn to give into emotion, and that emotion was fear. Fear that I'd lost him.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

This wasn't according to plan.

I found him. In the hospital. They moved his body there with the others that had died or were injured. He looked like he was sleeping. He looked fine. Well, apart from a few scratches and looking slightly squashed. But I wouldn't think like that. He was okay.I smiled. He was okay. He was fine. He was in one piece. I called his name joyfully.

My heart settled too soon.

There was thunder.

Do I have to go on?

Yes.

Fred, he-he was dead before I even got there!

When we first met Hermione we knew she and Ron liked each other. "Liked" each other. The second we found out Fred and I looked at each other, a single thought connecting us in that moment: "we have a new toy."

I'd always liked Hermione, for more reasons than one. Fred and I thought of her as a sister. Because of that fact we teased her and Ronnie every chance we got. It was good fun... For a while.

The thing we liked most about her was she could tell us apart. No one could do that. Ever. But she could. We didn't like it at first. It was always us in our own world. No one else. But then she came and knew which twin was which. We grew to love that about her.

It's been weeks since the war. At least, I think it's been weeks. I've lost track of time here, in this dark room, lying where he laid just weeks before, beside me while there was a he to be beside me.

I've been sleeping a lot lately. More than I should really. But the way I see it is, I can either live knowing half of me is gone. And that hurts. You don't know how much that hurts. Or sleep. A way to forget. Forget the pain. Even so, some mornings I wake up and find tears on my face. And I know, I know he was in my dreams last night.

Mornings. I hate mornings. Waking up without him beside me. I hate it. Every morning I woke up to a different face.

Mum. Sometimes dad. Ron or Percy. Maybe even Charlie.

But the only face I wanted to see was the face I never saw.

Harry comes by a lot. He talks a lot about how I shouldn't be sulking and how Fred would have wanted me to seize the day and all that crap. But that's all it is: talk. The last time he came over, he gave up a lot sooner. He set down the flowers he brought for me and left without another word. I watched them for hours, like they would move or maybe even tell me something. Couldn't take my eyes off of them, really. Suddenly, there was something alive in my presence.

But I ruined it for myself almost immediately. The flowers were cut at their stems. They were slowly dying, being cut off from their most constant life source: The earth. Poor things.

It doesn't matter anymore though.

They're dead now anyway, just like...

No.

I can't even finish the thought.

Ron came by just after Harry. He probably told Ron all about me, stressing every possible detail, no doubt. Ron told me how worried I'm making everyone and how selfish that is. I was about to sit up and yell back at him. I mean, how was I being selfish? But before I could, he said that he understood why I was acting this way. It wasn't everyday a part of you was ripped out, you know.

I knew he meant well. He didn't mean to be so cold.

It was just his way.

It was just his way of dealing with Fred's death.

On his way out, I spoke for the first time in a long time. I asked him if Hermione was okay.

"She's fine. In fact, I think she's more worried about you than anything," Ron said knowing he was getting under my skin, Hermione mothered me. She mothered all of us after the war, "You haven't be taking very good care of yourself, after all, George."

Then he left, leaving me with a million questions.

I turned my head to the nightstand where my phone sat, just within arms reach. It would be so easy just to reach over and call her. Tell her I'm okay. That she should be going out with Ron, not worrying over me. But that's what made it so hard.

I fell asleep again thinking over all the ways one phone call could go horribly wrong.

The next time I woke up, there was sunlight. It was strange to feel the warmth of it again. Like the sun was some foreign monster I'd spent my life avoiding. And since Fred left, I had.

I didn't like it. In fact I hated it

"Shut the curtains," I growled to whoever was in the room, throwing the blankets over my head.

"A little sunshine never hurt anyone," a familiar voice dead panned. "Besides, you could use some. You're looking paler than usual."

I stiffened as I felt the bed give in to new weight. "Go away, Hermione," I insisted.

"I will once you talk to me," she said. She sounded like she was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I am talking to you," I said like a little kid who thought he was oh so clever.

"No, you're not," Hermione persisted, "Come on. Sit up and talk to me. The least you could do is meet me halfway."

"Halfway," I repeated mostly to myself, but she took it like I was talking to her and answered, "Yeah, halfway. I came all the way here just to see you. I was worried."

To that, I turned to her, only the top half of my face out of the blanket like I was a little kid and she was the Dark Lord or something. "You always worry."

Hermione rolled her eyes, very Hermione-ish, if you ask me. "Well, of course. You haven't gotten out of bed in weeks. Your parents don't even want to have the funeral while you're like this. We've been-Oh, have you even eaten?" That last part, it was like she was scolding me.

I felt my face warm up. "Uh, no," I answered dumbly.

Hermione crossed her arms, scolding me again "Do you realize how unhealthy that is? Wait here."

Then she walked out.

I sat up in bed for the first time in a while. It was boring just sitting there by myself. God, I hated being bored.

She didn't have to come here. She didn't have to waste her time on me.

It wasn't right. She should be out with Ron. I have the right to ruin my own life but not hers.

But Hermione was right about one thing: Not eating wasn't good for me. I mean, at first, I let mum or sometimes Percy feed me in bed, but eventually I gave up. When they came in with breakfast or lunch, I sent them away. Now they didn't even have to come in, they knew my answer.

After a long time, she came in with a tray of food. I sat criss-cross and let her sit next to me with the tray on her lap. I wasn't too surprised, I mean, it wasn't anything complex or anything, but it was nice enough and it smelled amazing, like what a real home meal smelled like.

I couldn't help but notice the way she looked at me then. It was different, like she was obligated to take care of me, but not forced. Like she wanted to. Like an older sister taking care of her younger brother.

There I go again with the little kid comparisons.

I'd never admit this to anyone, but that's just the way Hermione made me feel.

Small.

Not in a bad way, though.

It was comforting, being aware that there was a force greater than you.

And by extension, Hermione was comforting.

Not that I'd ever let her know that.

"You made all this?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but asking anyways.

"Yeah," Hermione said, not like she was bragging, but more like it was obvious.

"You know I have a mum for this, right?"

"Yes, and do you eat her food?" Hermione shot me a look, like she wanted me to protest.

When I didn't, she softened. Her point was made.

She took a scoop of food and held it out for me. Not for her to feed me, but for me to take the spoon from her.

"Thanks." I muttered taking the spoon.

She plopped the tray into my lap and smiled, "You're welcome, George."

She left again, this time for good, promising to drop by again soon on her way out.

As I finished the rest of my meal, I couldn't help but think of the way she'd said my name. It was weird. Like it was a challenge.

Or an inside joke.

Hermione comes over almost everyday.

She told me she quit her job at the Bed and Breakfast. When I asked her if it was because of me, she rolled her eyes.

Because of Hermione, I've been walking around the house again, even after she's gone home to Ron. She's been able to take my mind off of things, playing board games in the den, baking cookies in the kitchen, or just sitting and talking. Mum thinks Hermione's a miracle worker now. She doesn't tell me this, of course, but I hear it.

I still haven't left the house much though. I've maybe gone out to the garden a couple times, but I don't stay long. In everything happy, in everything bright, I see Fred. I even see him in Hermione, a constant reminder of my failure.

But I can't send her away. She's all I have left.

And even though she's part of the pain, she also helps relieve it.

That's why, when she leaves, I feel so hollow. Like I've lost you all over again. Fred... My Fred...

"How have you been?" she asked one day, completely out of the blue.

"Fine," I said, simply to answer her strange question.

"Everyone's worried about you, y'know," she pressed.

I grimaced, "No, they're not."

"Yes, they are," she insisted, a new forcefulness in her voice, like she was about to lose her temper at any moment. "They ask about you almost everyday."

"Almost," I countered.

"They're worried," she persisted, her voice filled to overflowing with passion.

"You mean, you're worried," I noted, raising an eyebrow.

She set her glass on the small side table, "I don't have to answer that."

I smirked, almost feeling like myself again. "Sure."

After that, the guys started coming over more. Very unannounced, I might add.

Harry comes over the most, almost as much as Hermione. Almost.

It's odd, but they never seem to come on the same day. It's like they have their own Take Care of George schedule.

It's stupid. They think I can't take care of myself. Like, without Fred I would just fade away...

On his first visit since Hermione started taking care of me, he sure was surprised when he saw me out of bed. I was sitting in the dining room having breakfast when mum let him in.

"What brings you here?"

That kind of shocked him. "The need to visit you, of course. What else?"

"That it? How touching..."

Instead of looking offended, Harry smiled. He ruffled my bed head "I guess Fred has rubbed off on you huh, smart mouth," and showed himself out.

What did he mean "smart mouth"?

Of course he'd rub off on me. He was my brother.

Oh. Did you catch that?

He was my brother.

Moving on.

It was always "us" and "them". They were never "us" and we were never "them." Our world was small, but that was the way we liked it. And as long as we had each other, Fred, we were stronger than them.

But now, there's no longer an "us", it's just "me".

It's like a million to one, Fred.

I can't do it without you.

I'm not strong enough.

It's not fair.

But then again, when were our games ever fair?

As I went to sleep I was fighting back tears.

I woke up to a stinging pain in my forearm. I wrenched away in a daze, still groggy from sleep. "Hold still!" a girl's voice scolded.

I watched at Hermione's brown eyes materialized, inches away from mine. I pulled away quickly, trying to make as much space between us as possible. She tugged my arm again, stopping me short.

"What do you think you're doing?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I could ask you the same question," she said, not looking at me as she dipped another cotton ball into a clear solution: rubbing alcohol.

What kind of an answer was that?

I followed her gaze from bottle of rubbing alcohol to my forearm, which was raw with deep cuts.

Those don't look like accidents, do they?

"What did you think you were doing?" She still couldn't look me in the eyes. Her voice pierced through me like sharpened daggers.

"I don't-"

She didn't give me a chance to finish. "I leave you alone for one afternoon and I come back and you're-" Her voice faltered. "I thought you were-"

It was my turn to interrupt her. I wrapped my free arm around her and pulled her close to me, not conscious of what I was doing. "I'm sorry," I whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

Over her shoulder, I looked at the ugly slashes in my arm. Deep and ugly. A great imperfection on previously perfect skin.

It made me sick.

"I come in and you're-"

"Shh," I insisted. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," she pulled away until we were seeing eye to eye, "Fred."

I felt a tug on my heart. "I'm George," but it felt like the voice was attached to a different body.

"No," she said slowly, "You two may look alike, but you're very different."

She always was smarter than us. But she was more than just book smart, she was smart when it came to people too.

She always knew when you were upset.

She always knew what you meant when you said something.

She always understood.

For us, she could always tell us apart.

At first, we denied it. There was no way we would let anyone on the inside, within our boundaries. There was always a safe distance.

Until Hermione.

Now, sitting on the bathroom floor with Hermione, our roles reversed once again. In a flash, I went from comforting her to needing to be comforted.

She brought my world crumbling down with a one syllable: Fred.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Fred," Hermione spoke softly, "You've been fooling everyone, your parents, Ron, Percy, everyone into thinking that you're George. Fooling yourself." Stop. Stop. Stop. "You wanted it to go on forever, thinking no one would notice." Please. Please. Stop. "You wanted to live the life George couldn't. Because of your mistake." No. "And you've been blaming yourself, tearing yourself apart over it."

Yes. I have.

The tears streamed down my face like acid, burning, burning, burning. It all came flooding back. This was a hurricane and I was a tree, breaking at all contact.

The day, the last day of the war, I was talking to Percy. He saw me and ran to me. We were fighting and laughing and everything was perfect. Then the explosion hit. I flew off with Harry and Hermione. Then I heard the screaming. George. No not George.

I hear them scream after me. I didn't care. I ran. I found him in the hospital. I was crying. I held his body in my arms and cried.

I didn't hear the others show up.

I didn't hear their words if comfort.

But I saw McGonagall...

And I saw her smile... A sad smile

I blinked.

And the tears fell.

George was gone.

And so was I.

I couldn't move. I laid next to my twin.

I couldn't feel anything. I was numb and hollow. There was nothing left inside me.

I couldn't think. Any thought I tried to process faded just as I was about to grasp it.

McGonagall sat next to me. "I'm so sorry love... I'm sorry about what happened. But I need to know...which twin are you?"

I think I asked her to repeat herself.

"Which twin are you?" she asked again.

I looked over at my twin. "George," I said wistfully. "George Weasely."

I played along. Strange as it sounded, making myself believe I was George made everything a little easier. I didn't miss myself as much as I missed him.

"It's all my fault," I hissed, shutting my eyes so tightly they hurt.

"No, it's not," Hermione answered after a long pause.

I snapped. "What do you mean it's not?" My voice was getting louder, angrier, but I couldn't control it. I couldn't stop feeling. "If it wasn't for me, George would still be here! If I hadn't called him over to me he would still-" My voice broke. I took short, sharp breaths, I couldn't get enough air.

A gentle hand fluttered onto my shoulder. I met her eyes, which glistened with fresh tears. "Do you really think you have a control on this?" She shook her head at me like she couldn't believe how big of an idiot I was.

Silence.

What was I supposed to say?

"I'm sorry," I said, "For everything. For running off. For being selfish. For causing all of this. I'm sorry." I felt the words flow out of me, warm and true.

"It wasn't just shock," she went on, "That made you want to be George. You wanted it to be you instead of him."

She was right.

"Yeah," my voice small and shaking.

"Don't do this again, Fred."

"I won't."

We sat there, the silence speaking for itself. I wanted to say something, something to reassure her. But I knew, deep down, it wasn't her that needed it.

She spoke for me. "You don't have to pretend your way through life, Fred."

"It's better than having to live with myself."

"No. No, it's not."

She was right.

Ron walked in and hugged Hermione.

"George?" He asked, seeing the tears and the blood...

But the name. That name got me. That name. At that name fresh tears flowed down my face.

He sat next to me "don't cry... George it'll be okay..." He tried to comfort me.

"I'm...I'm not George... I'm Fred..." I sobbed out.

He looked shocked and I collapsed in tears on Hermione's lap.

The clock that hung on the wall had George's picture pointing to "Lost" while Fred's picture moved from "Lost" to "Home".

Mrs. Weasley started at it for a long time, tears fresh in her eyes. "Fred...?" She ran to the room and found Hermione, Ron, and a twin... A lonely twin, crying. "...Fred...?" She asked softly, almost unsure.

His eyes were flowing rivers now. "Hey mum...it's me...I'm home..."

She started sobbing. "I'm sorry...I'm so so sorry..."

I'm so sorry George...I'm so sorry...


End file.
